their novitiate, when they took the
final vows, she would give them up with such a dower as would make
all former gifts of the house of Repentigny and Tilly poor in the
comparison.

Mere Migeon was especially overjoyed at this prospect of relieving the
means of her house, which had been so terribly straitened of late years.
The losses occasioned by the war had been a never-ending source of
anxiety to her and Mere Esther, who, however, kept their troubles as far
as possible to themselves, in order that the cares of the world might
not encroach too far upon the minds of the community. Hence they were
more than ordinarily glad at this double vocation in the house of
Repentigny. The prospect of its great wealth falling to pious uses they
regarded as a special mark of divine providence and care for the house
of Ste. Ursule.

"Oh, Mere Esther! Mere Esther!" exclaimed the Lady Superior. "I feel
too great a satisfaction in view of the rich dower of these two girls.
I need much self-examination to weed out worldly thoughts. Alas! Alas! I
would rather be the humblest aunt in our kitchen than the Lady Superior
of the Ursulines. Blessed old Mere Marie used to say 'a good turn in the
kitchen was as good as a prayer in the chapel.'"

Mere Esther reflected a moment, and said, "We have long found it easier
to pray for souls than to relieve bodies. I thank good St. Joseph for
this prospective blessing upon our monastery."

During the long and wasting war, Mere Migeon had seen her poor nuns
reduced to grievous straits, which they bore cheerfully, however, as
their share of the common suffering of their country. The cassette of
St. Joseph, wherein were deposited the oboli for the poor, had long been
emptied. The image of St. Joseph au Ble, that stood at the great stair,
and kept watch over the storeroom of corn and bread, had often guarded
an empty chamber. St. Joseph au Labeur, overlooking the great kitchen
of the Convent, had often been deaf to the prayers of "my aunts," who
prepared the food of the community. The meagre tables of the refectory
had not seldom been the despair of the old depositaire, Mere St. Louis,
who devoutly said her longest graces over her scantiest meals.

"I thank St. Joseph for what he gives, and for what he withholds; yea,
for what he takes away!" observed Mere St. Louis to her special friend
and gossip, Mere St. Antoine, as they retired from the chapel. "Our
years of famine are nearly over. The day of the